The Rebound Theory

12|Aashi

"You're always like that whenever I'm trying to come close to you." Rohit says, a bit sad, and visibly disappointed.

"Aww, I didn't know you want me that much." I taunt him from the dresser, studying my reflection in his mirror, and combing my fingers through my long long.

In a matter of seconds, his hands are on my waist, and I've been grand- slammed on his bouncy bed as he snarls into my hair. "Good thing, we're all alone. You can shout all you like."

I squeal on the top of my lungs, his hold on my waist loosens, and I push him off of me, smirking. "I will. Don't you worry." And with that, I dash out of his bedroom.

He runs after me, which makes me want to run faster, in order not to get caught in his death- grip again. "Baby. . . you're my baby. . . baby. .. baby. . . baby. . . baby. . . thought you'd always be mine."

"I'm not your *fucking* baby." I laugh as I push some pillows off from his couch, as I run on it. "And JB doesn't look good on you."

"Come to me honey. Come to daddy."

"I won't call you *daddy.* Uggh."

"I'm *your* daddy. You'll call me whatever I want you to. You were meant to be submissive to me."

"Call Saheema then. Oh, wait— she's with Neel." I throw a discarded pillow from the leather couch which was lying around the dining table, into Rohit's face. He catches it mid- air.

"Don't talk about *him*." He snaps in a loud voice. "Y'know, how much I dislike him," he continues yelling at me in his scary, rough voice.

*Funny thing, he never raises his voice on me.*

I stand there stunned, glued to the spot, hands behind on the glass dining table for support. I can practically see Rohit fuming, I've never seen him like this. Not with me. My lower lip immediately quivers, and I turn around towards the kitchen, not wanting to face him.

He follows me. I wander to the kitchen, bend down to the floor, open the lower cupboards in a rush to look for a container or a plastic cup or a glass to fill with tap water and put a stop to my overflowing emotions.

In a minute, I'm in tears, shaking. My whole body is trembling as I find a cup and fill it with tap- water to bring it to my lips. I push the drink forcibly to my lips with shaky fingers, when his hands startle me.

His hands are hugging me from behind, and he whispers in my neck, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean– mean to yell at you. I just. . . just got mad. I hate that guy."

Silence.

I keep drinking the water, not responding to his touch or words.

"Please baby," he tries to turn me around to face him, "talk to me."

"Never – ever raise your voice with me, Rohit. Never yell at me. Or, I'm out." I shrug his hands off of me, and I walk out of the kitchen.

"I said sorry, yaar (friend). Really, Ashu, but it's partially your fault too. . . you know how much I hate Neel. And, *still* you choose to have his name on your lips on repeat."

I turn around, mad. "That doesn't mean you'll talk to me like that." I lock eyes with him, fuming. "And, y'know what I don't get?! The reason *why*. Why do you hate him so much?"

He doesn't answer me, and averts his eyes to a distance. He's distant already. His posture is tense and he's apparently rigid and floating to his own world in whichever perspective he has concocted in his head.

After a long minute, he replies, "He just got something that was supposed to be mine. And, you know *what* it is."

With those words, and the hurt painted on my face, I pick my shoes and satchel sitting on the leather couch I was running on playfully a few minutes ago.